PARTING SHOT

Snow in late March isn't any big news. It always snows this time of year, even if it was 70˚F a few days ago. That said, I was mildly flabbergasted when I looked up from my desk yesterday afternoon and saw a blinding fury of jumbo snowflakes pouring from the pewter sky. A really intense early-spring squall pretending to be a blizzard. 

I might not have been so startled if I'd have witnessed the start. But just glancing up and seeing the storm already in full force, the ground almost covered, and the island across from the cottage obscured behind a swirling curtain of white—well, I didn't know whether to laugh with glee, start praying, or dash outside and began gathering armloads of firewood in hopes of surviving until disaster rescue workers dug me and Moon-the-Dog out at some future date.  

What I did, in fact, was grab my camera and hustle to make a few pictures before the whole shebang fizzled away. Anyone who's lived in Ohio for any length of time knows these early-spring snowstorms are really tempests in a teapot…over as quickly as they began. 

The weeping willow took the flakes in stride, as did the lilac and spirea. But I thought the daffodils looked a little confused, or at least a bit chilled. In the end, however, the snow petered out and soon melted away. The day remained gray and cold. Moon and I went back into the house and I returned to my desk and work.

I guess March simply had to get in a parting shot—one final lick to say…I may be all-but-over for this year, but I'm currently still in charge, and I can snow on you any time I want. 

Okay. I got the message.

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MARCH TWO-STEP

Daffodils on the hillside this morning…

What a difference a day makes! Or in this case, a night—since the change occurred between about 10:30 p.m. when I went to bed, and 5:00 a.m. when I got up, and looked outside into an oddly glowing darkness.

"We have snow," I said to Myladylove, who remained asleep except for an unintelligible though not particularly friendly mutter. Moon the dog feigned interest, but was really more concerned about whether there was any chance I might dole out a treat before I began fumbling around in the kitchen making coffee. Deciding my caffeine jones would doubtless take precedence over providing a rubbery bit of fake bacon for the pooch, my faithful canine companion—decidedly underwhelmed by my weather report—readjusted herself on the sleeping pad and also went back to sleep.

…the same hillside daffodils Wednesday!

Well, I said to myself, I don't care what you guys think…I find the night's snowfall exciting.

Actually, just before turning in last night, as I let the dog out for her final peregrination, I could see in the porchlight's gleam a few big, wet flakes mixed in with the rain. Not unexpected. The National Weather Service's forecast had called for a bit of overnight snow. So I wasn't surprised to see white on the ground when I woke up…just not the 3-4 inches that now covers every blade of green grass, several hundred crocus, and about that many daffodils which are/were just starting to bloom.

Cardinal in the yard two days ago…

Still, anyone who lives in Ohio has to learn that March Madness meant something fundamental and important long before a bunch of tall, skinny men co-opted the phrase, donned silly-looking shorts and began jostling one another while chasing a ball around an indoor arena like of gaggle of gangly grade-schoolers.

The countryman of a century ago would have expected such weather shenanigans in March. "Spring can't be trusted to have settled in for good until you've seen snow on the forsythia blooms," my old pal Frank used to say. Frank grew up on farms in the muckland onion country of north-central Ohio—moist black earth so rich and friable that he avowed a man could kneel anywhere in a field and insert his arm up to the elbow with little effort. Frank would have been on the phone this morning at first light, booming with laughter at the overnight snow and anyone who thought such weather behavior uncharacteristic.

…Mr. Redbird in the yard this morning!

I thought you might like to see a couple of "before" and "after" shots taken day-before yesterday and this morning. For those of you to the north who've been just a tad jealous of our recent near-70s weather, you can chuckle now. And for anyone living far enough south that you've already been applying sun-block and sowing seeds, I must remind you it's unseemly to gloat.

The March Two-Step is in full swing here in Ohio; and sweet Miss Spring hasn't lost a single iota of her moves.

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